


Friday I'm in Love

by the_queenmaker



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chefs and Waiters, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_queenmaker/pseuds/the_queenmaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Changmin goads Jaejoong into a relationship, or Jaejoong is easy in every sense of the word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday I'm in Love

Here's the thing: Jaejoong never gave much thought to life after culinary school when he was still in culinary school; not because he was against the idea of growing up or having a goal in life, but because he never seemed to have time to formulate one in between all the working and the drinking and the cooking and the--okay, mostly it was the drinking. But on the rare occasion when he did give a second thought to his future, Jaejoong always envisioned a small storefront, maybe up a hidden staircase in the middle of the city, that was unpolished, homey, and frequented by regulars he'd know by name. 

 

Then 'the interview' happened. Jaejoong took one look at the fancy letterhead of the menu and the silverware in the dining room that looked more expensive than the total worth if his apartment and, in a stunning act of self-sabotage, turned to the interviewing chefs and blurted out: "Ambrosia, though? Isn't that a bit arrogant, calling yourselves the 'food of the gods'?" 

 

Their faces had blanked and remained unmoving for the remainder of the interview, providing no reaction upon tasting the dish Jaejoong presented for review. Jaejoong had walked away feeling a strange mixture of relief and remorse--only to nearly fall out of his chair when they called him back five days later with a job offer. Suddenly, Jaejoong was working nearly fifty hours a week in a brutally fast-paced environment, and everything else--culinary school, his social life, dreams of that little storefront--was an afterthought. 

 

But that was the thing: as boring as checking inventory or prepping meals or whatever parts not involving cooking inevitably were, the parts that did involve actual cooking? Jaejoong excelled at. Even Chef Eric, who rode Jaejoong's tail ragged whenever he made an error, rarely had anything bad to say when it came down to Jaejoong's cooking. Natural affinity for food aside, Jaejoong understood food on a very basic level and his standards drove the line cooks up the wall. So the last thing he expected to hear in the middle of dinner service was a disembodied voice telling him:

 

"That's not medium-rare." 

 

Jaejoong's concentration faltered and he glanced up, a spoon full of purée suspended millimeters above the plate. The speaker was standing on the other side of the delivery window and he was wearing the black and white uniform of the wait staff, bowtie and all. but his was not a face Jaejoong had seen before. Granted, he didn't exactly pay that much attention to the servers to begin with, but this one was wearing an innocent expression that clashed horribly with the mischievous quirk on the corner of his lips and as unobservant as Jaejoong knew he could be when it came to everything that didn't involve food, he would have noticed _him_.

 

"Excuse me?" he asked, trying not to sound like a complete jackass and failing spectacularly. 

 

"Your steak," the waiter--Changmin, read his name tag--repeated. "That's not medium-rare." 

 

Brows furrowed, Jaejoong brushed his knuckles against the center of the steak, and then his frown turned into a scowl. "Excuse you," he huffed as the other's smirk widened. "That's a perfect medium-rare."

 

"If you say so," Changmin replied in a long suffering tone as though this was a reoccurring argument and not the very first time they'd ever interacted. He was _smiling_ , that brat. "Just don't blame me when the customer sends it back because it's undercooked." 

 

"They won't," Jaejoong replied confidently. His knuckles were still raw from the time he'd burned the skin off them testing the temperature of steak, over and over until he got it just right. "I know my meats. Intimately. I can get them however I want." 

Changmin's eyebrows jumped into his hairline. "Oh, can you now?"

 

Jaejoong blinked and in the time it takes for him to realize how many things were wrong with his statement, Eric glanced over and noticed that his sous chef was slacking off. There were many things Kim Jaejoong could be accused of; having good timing was not one of those things. 

 

"Jaejoong!" he thundered. "Stop flirting with the new guy and get the food out!!" 

 

"Yes, chef!" Jaejoong called back, feeling a burn in his cheeks he couldn't blame on the heat in the kitchen. Changmin was openly sniggering now, and Jaejoong threw him a dirty look, silently cursing whatever unspoken agreement existed between the kitchen and the floor that prevented Eric and Yunho from disciplining the other's personnel, no matter how much they deserved it. 

 

"You heard the man, stop flirting with me," Changmin said, and _winked_.

 

"I don't like you," Jaejoong sniffed, and Changmin walked away, laughing, tray balanced delicately in one hand. Jaejoong stared after him, an indignant flush rising in his chest, and decided that he meant it. 

 

Really.

//

"I don't like him. " Jaejoong said again, as though continuous repetition further increased the validity of his statement. His shift ended hours ago, but Yoochun was at the bar that night and Jaejoong could always rely on him whenever he wanted to get plastered. Yoochun always obliged him at a fraction of the price too, because he was the best. "Really. Don't."

 

"Of course you don't, hyung," Yoochun said soothingly, smiling in a way that suggested he was filing away every last juicy detail Jaejoong was spouting to weaponize later. "Tell me more." 

 

(In retrospect, he should've known better than to say anything sensitive to Yoochun when he was wearing _that_ face. So what if it was Yoochun's default expression.) 

 

"His face." Jaejoong announced, slamming his glass of whiskey down on the coaster. "His face is dumb. And his hair too, ugh, three years ago called, they want their style back. And-and the bowtie looks extra stupid on him. I just--I just want to rip it off of him." 

 

"Is that so?" 

 

Jaejoong froze, his glass in midair, and threw a wounded look at Yoochun, who had teleported to the other end of the bar and was hitting on the couple sitting at the far end. Both of them. At the same time. Traitor. 

 

"Yeah." Jaejoong swiveled around slowly on his stool, not so much for the dramatic effect, but to preemptively avoid any embarrassment--though, if he had to be honest, he'd probably be at risk even when his words weren't running into each other as they were now. Not that Changmin needed to know that, standing there in complete disregard to Jaejoong's personal space, looking more amused than he had a right to be. "Yeah. Y'know--y'know, the French waiter thing is usually universally flattering but you--you look really. Not good. Ungodly. I just wanna--" he made a tearing motion with his hand. 

 

"Really, now?" Changmin's smile grew, much to Jaejoong's confusion, and then he leaned in even closer, the challenge evident in his eyes. "Then do it." 

 

(Well, since he asked so nicely.)

//

The next morning, Jaejoong woke up in his own bed with the ache of a minor hangover in his limbs and the promise of an impending headache behind his eyes if he didn't get up and close the blackout curtains. It's in the process of rolling around in a half-hearted attempt to get up out of bed that he rolled onto the other body in bed with him and--well, if that didn't jolt him awake, nothing would.

 

"Oh my god," he stammered, horrified as he scrambled off of Changmin, who was squinty-eyed and dashingly sleep-ruffled. Again, unfair. Jaejoong forced himself to think through the haze of his impending migraine, to recall the night before. He remembered leading Changmin by the lapel of his hideous purple jacket, pushing him against the wall of the elevator, kissing him until their lips were dry and bitten, and how they left a trail of discarded clothing all the way from the front door to Jaejoong's bedroom, and how Jaejoong had climbed on top of him verbally promises all kinds of tree analogies-- 

 

\--but now they were an arms-length apart, staring at each other uncomprehendingly as the wall-clock ticked loudly in the background. That they were both presumably still naked under the covers probably did little to dispel the general air of awkwardness. Jaejoong tried to remember the general etiquette following a night of mostly ill-advised sex and came up depressingly blank.

 

"Um," he started slowly, right as Changmin's stomach let out a loud, familiar rumble. Jaejoong's mind zeroed in on the sound like a misguided honing missile. Some instincts were harder to suppress than others; he was a chef, after all. "Are you hungry?" 

 

Changmin's face went slack with actual surprise and, for one horrible moment, Jaejoong wondered if he just inadvertently broke some golden rule of one-night stands. He was in the middle of thinking up all the ways he could keep himself from spontaneous word-vomit (duct tape was _not_ out of the question) when suddenly, Changmin smiled. Not a twitch, or a quirk, but something slow and genuine. Jaejoong's stomach flipped back over so fast he almost went limp with relief. 

 

"Do you always offer your one-night stands breakfast afterward?" Changmin asked, sounding both amused and genuinely fascinated. 

 

"Of course I do..." Each word was spoken with a higher inflection than the one preceding it, until it sounded like a 'no'. But Changmin's smile didn't falter--in fact, it got bigger if anything else. Then, Changmin threw the blanket aside as though he suddenly decided that modesty was overrated, and Jaejoong forgot all about Changmin's smile in favor of the one-hundred and eighty-something centimeters of nudity standing in the middle of his bedroom. 

 

"Jaejoong-hyung." Jaejoong blinked and, with great effort, forced his gaze upward. The half-smile was back on Changmin's face, but the thought of breakfast must have been weighing on Changmin's mind because no jokes were made at Jaejoong's expense. "Feed me?" 

 

"Right." Jaejoong said, getting to his feet unsteadily, clutching the blanket around him like an oversized toga. "Of course."

//

The life of a sous chef wasn’t an easy one. The hours were brutal, the days were long, and you had twice the workload as an executive chef for half the gratitude and even less the salary. But it was a stepping stone, a trial by fire, and Jaejoong had to forgo a lot of things for his job. One thing he never seemed to be able to give up, however, was the peace of mind in having perishable food in his refrigerator. It was impractical, and his mother would probably have an aneurism upon seeing how much of it went to the trash, but somehow, his job always seemed more bearable when he knew that he didn't have to rely on night market food stands for sustenance.

 

He was particularly glad for this idiosyncrasy now. 

 

He’s not entirely sure why. 

 

“Wow.” Changmin said, nodding in what he must have thought was grudging approval. Jaejoong knew better though—Changmin had been salivating over the seaweed soup since its first simmer and his eyes had lit up when Jaejoong started to roast the _kalbi_. 

 

“What?” Jaejoong asked through a mouthful of rice. “You don’t think I lived off of risotto and _foie gras_ , did you?” 

 

“…I kind of did,” Changmin mumbled. He sounded open and honest and so appalled at his own stupidity that Jaejoong laughed despite himself. 

 

“You’re dumb to think so,” Jaejoong said frankly, baiting. 

 

"Guess so,” Changmin agreed unexpectedly. He glanced up and his gaze was sincere. “Thanks for the food. It’s delicious.” 

 

Jaejoong's heart fluttered noisily in his chest.

//

The inevitable awkwardness that was supposed to happen when they go back to work never did. By the time Changmin’s shift started, Jaejoong was elbows deep in prep, and on Saturday nights, even with two sous chefs, it was too much. Junsu was running around filling in for one of the missing line cooks and Jaejoong was trying to pour sauce ‘artfully’ onto two sides of mashed potatoes when suddenly, he heard:

 

“That’s definitely unsalted.” The gravy boat slammed onto the countertop with such force that somewhere in the back of his mind, Jaejoong reminded himself to be grateful that Eric was in the dining room shaking hands right at the precise moment and not inside the kitchen with him to tell him off. 

 

“You can’t tell if something is unsalted from looking at it,” Jaejoong snapped testily. “Food does not work that way.”

 

“I can.” Changmin grinned. 

 

“No, you can’t—“ He must’ve been more stressed than he thought because instead of calling for Yunho to get a grip on his waiters, Jaejoong stuck his finger into the clump of mashed potatoes from the pan that hadn’t made it onto the plate and thrust it at Changmin. “It’s seasoned perfectly.” 

 

And Changmin poked his head through the delivery window and wrapped his lips around the bit of mashed potatoes and Jaejoong’s finger underneath it, and _sucked_. Jaejoong’s brain activity came to an abrupt and unpleasant halt and he gawped unattractively as Changmin pulled off, licking his lips unnecessarily. 

 

“No, you’re right,” Changmin said brightly. “Perfectly seasoned.” 

 

“Of course I’m right,” Jaejoong said, bemusedly pleased to have won the argument. But Changmin walked away with a tray in one hand and an extra spring in his step, and Jaejoong couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been played somehow.

//

The moment Eric let them off for the night, Jaejoong stumbled toward the bar, Junsu in tow. Usually, even though it was a Saturday night, the bar was cleared out by the time the dinner rush started, so Yoochun got to join them on the other side of the counter and rub smooth, comforting circles into their shoulders

 

“Do me first,” Junsu said, elbowing Jaejoong aside shamelessly. “I’m way more tired that Jaejoong-hyung is.” 

 

Jaejoong sputtered. “Excuse me?” 

 

“You still had energy to hit on the new guy,” Junsu yawned. And then, because he was a cheat, Junsu turned on his aegyo and left it on until Yoochun was patting at his head and Jaejoong was sighing into his drink in resignation. Yunho found them once the desserts were out and parked himself next to Jaejoong, butting his head against Jaejoong’s shoulder until he got some attention too. 

 

It wasn’t always like this. At first, it had only been Jaejoong at the bar, trying to wheedle free drinks out of the new bartender, who doled them out conditionally. Then, Yunho had wandered over one night, all the awkward professionalism of a new maître d, and had been promptly dragged into their little circle of commiseration. When Junsu was promoted to being the second sous chef, Yoochun had called him over for celebratory drinks and, though Junsu never drank anything but water, he was right there with them that night and every other time after that. 

 

(Eric never looked as though he approved of their gatherings, but Jaejoong knew for a fact that Eric still kept in touch with everyone he’d worked with when he was a sous chef. He’d stored the names away—Hyesung, Jungjin, Dongwan, Andy, and Minwoo—prepared to use them if ever Eric tried to end them, but Eric never said a word.) 

 

“…and this is Changmin.” Jaejoong blinked away from his thoughts to find Changmin suddenly at his immediate left. His mouth went dry as Changmin slid right up next to him against the bar so the entire length of their upper arms were touching, like Yunho had only been holding his spot and he was there to reclaim it, even though they’ve never stood together in-line before. Changmin grinned at each of them as Yunho introduced them, but his eyes sparked when it was Jaejoong’s turn—and Jaejoong thought all at once that this was too strange, too bold, too comfortable, and that they saw each other naked that morning and also that there wasn’t nearly enough alcohol in the world for this. Yunho went on talking, genially oblivious. “He’ll make an excellent waiter once he learns how to smile.” 

 

Yoochun glanced at Jaejoong, searching, and then he smiled toothily, his face all scrunched up the way it did whenever Yoochun _knew_ and wanted you to know he knew. Jaejoong suddenly regretted telling Yoochun his life story—curse bartenders and the air of inherent trustworthiness that wafted around them. 

 

 _Not one word_ , he thought loudly at Yoochun, his own facial expression caught somewhere in between pleading and threatening. _Please, god, not a single word from you._

//

“I’m studying mechanical engineering,” Changmin told them. “I’m good with my hands.”

 

“Yeah you are,” Jaejoong agreed without thinking. 

 

Junsu snorted loudly into his wineglass of water and Yoochun let out a poorly disguised hacking cough. Jaejoong sputtered and opened his mouth to take it all back, but then Changmin, still shaking from laughter, slipped his hand around so they rested on the other side of Jaejoong’s hip, and Jaejoong’s thoughts crash messily into the brick wall of his mind. 

 

Yunho glanced bemusedly between all of them, looking thoroughly baffled by their suspiciously timed reaction. “What's so funny about that?”

//

“ _That_ was that your idea of discretion?” Changmin had him crowded against his bedroom door for the second night in a row and—really, it was downright unfair to ask a question like that and then not even allow Jaejoong the air to answer. On the other hand, he didn’t mind that much either. Changmin lips were heavy on Jaejoong’s and his clever, clever fingers were making quick work of Jaejoong’s trousers

 

There’s a crick in Jaejoong’s neck from the angle of their kiss and Changmin’s skin was hot to the touch, and when Changmin slid his leg between Jaejoong’s thighs, Jaejoong rubbed up against his thigh, shameless, and the sound of Changmin’s moan, all low and pleased, sent a rush of blood down south so quickly it was almost painful. They were rubbing up against each other, panting and breathless, and Jaejoong was thinking about how glad he was that he didn’t have a roommate and how amazing Changmin’s lips felt around the side of his neck when Changmin dropped to his knees and swallowed Jaejoong into a toe-curlingly filthy blowjob that made Jaejoong cross-eyed with pleasure.

 

“Changmin,” he wheezed, knees trembling as Changmin sucked languidly all around him before coming up to tease him at the slit. His fingers—again, his fingers—wrapped around the base of his erection and began pumping slowly and Jaejoong keened incoherently, hips stuttering unsteadily to life. Changmin didn’t stop, he hollowed his cheeks, he twisted his wrist, and it was so wet inside his mouth that by the time Jaejoong felt his orgasm approaching, it was already too late to stop. “Changmin, _please_ —“

 

\--and then Changmin pulled off of him, licking his lips in satisfaction as Jaejoong wavered, right on the edge of coming before the loss of sensation hit him and he backed slowly away. His body was a live wire, over-sensitized and overheated, and he barely registered Changmin taking him by the hand and leading him to bed. 

 

“…Min?” Jaejoong asked, still lightheaded enough to forget that Changmin totally left him hanging. “What’re you…” 

 

And then he felt it, the wet press of finger against his ass. Jaejoong moaned wantonly, spreading his legs and arching his back, and he heard Changmin’s breath catch, ever so. “Hyung,” Changmin murmured, and kissed the side of Jaejoong’s neck right where his birthmark was, and Jaejoong’s heart-rate jumped. 

 

When Jaejoong finally came, it was sudden and absolute, as though someone had reached deep into his skin and ripped him out by the skeleton. From the way he blacked out before he hit the bed sheets, he thought maybe such a comparison wasn’t so far off the mark after all. 

 

(And then, early the next morning, Changmin turned him over on his back, and did it again.)

//

They settled into a pattern of sorts, where Jaejoong would linger in the bar after his hours were over and Changmin would follow Jaejoong to his car at the end of the night—and then they’d end up in bed together, somehow. Occasionally, they’d eat dinner before, but they’d always eat breakfast after the night was over. Sometimes, Jaejoong would remediate Changmin’s startling lack of pop culture knowledge by showing him the latest bootleg copy of whatever film was popular at the moment and sometimes, Changmin would talk circles around him explaining the finer details of thermodynamics and combustion, but really, it was nice to have someone to hang out with regularly again. The whole fucking-like-a-machine thing was mostly immaterial.

 

Then one day, out of the blue, Changmin turned to him with a strange expression on his face, and said: “Hyung, I don’t just come over because I like your cooking. You know that…right?” 

 

“Well, duh.” Jaejoong said, confused. There was the sex too, obviously. 

 

Changmin didn’t look too happy with his response, but he turned back to his food and began shoveling rice into his mouth again. 

 

Jaejoong couldn’t help but think they’d crossed wires somehow.

//

And then, came one of _those_ nights, where Jaejoong was off-key and out-of-synch with everything happening around him, where his timing was off and where it seemed everything he touched turned out charred or undercooked. After the fifth halibut came out overcooked, Eric pulled him off the pass and told him to go and clear his head, and that if Jaejoong came back before he was ready to be perfect, that he didn’t have to bother coming into work the next day.

 

Getting thrown out of the kitchen wasn’t anything new, unfortunately. The idea that he could really lose his job for not being perfect, on the other hand, was, and it smacked him right where it hurt the most: that he had gotten the job in the first place because they were understaffed for the opening night, that they had kept him around conditionally despite all the effort he’d put in. It settled, ugly and unpleasant, and Jaejoong stalked out back, a pack of cigarettes clutched tightly in his fist. He was on his second stick and feeling sick to his stomach when the door slid open and Changmin poked his head out, looking cautious and perturbed. 

 

“Chefs shouldn’t smoke,” Changmin said at last. Jaejoong laughed, as acrid as the smoke in his lungs. 

 

“Who’s the chef?” Jaejoong bit out viciously, taking a long pull off his cigarette. It wasn’t half as satisfying as it used to be. 

 

“You are.” Jaejoong laughed again, but Changmin squatted down so they were eye level. “You’re the chef,” Changmin repeated. “You can tell the difference between bananas and plantains through a blind taste test. You can tell the temperature of meat with one touch and you can make food look so delicious that people are willing to wait hours and still not want to start eating because it looks that good. You’re the chef.” 

 

Jaejoong swallowed. He knew Changmin was always watching, but he hadn’t known that Changmin had seen anything. “There’s a world of difference between bananas and plantains,” he said, faintly. 

 

“Is that your only take away from this?” Changmin deadpanned. Jaejoong looked at his feet and stubbed out the remaining half of his cigarette. Changmin rolled his eyes and smacked him on the shoulder, hard. “Come on,” he said. “Junsu can probably hold down fort all by himself, but he shouldn’t have to.” 

 

“You’re right.” Jaejoong took a deep breath, rose to his feet, squared his shoulders, and prepared to take back his place at the pass. 

 

The rest of dinner service goes off without a hitch. When Eric relieved him for the night, he clapped his hand on Jaejoong’s shoulder and held it there, a brief, silent apology. Later, when Yoochun slid him a bottle of his favorite soju without prompting, when Junsu bumped against his side, teasing him lightly for playing hooky, when Yunho poked him in the face and talked cutely at him until Jaejoong smiled, Jaejoong remembered the photographs in Eric’s office from when he was a line cook. He looked around, as Yunho and Yoochun made stupid faces at each other and Junsu cackled loudly at their idiocy, and knew he’d miss these idiots as much as Eric missed his friends. 

 

And then Changmin joined them, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bowtie loose around his neck. They glanced at each other from across the bar, and Jaejoong felt heat rising in the back of his neck that didn’t go away, even after Changmin shouldered Yunho out of his spot. 

 

Maybe it wasn’t the same feeling after all.

//

Despite his new awareness that something was different, life went on as it always had. Yunho was still the best, most polite, most efficient host in the whole city, Junsu was still the most solid second sous chef Jaejoong could ever hope for, Yoochun greased on, and Eric was still disapproving, possibly moreso after Jaejoong walked in on him being cute on the phone to “Hyesungie”. Changmin still went home with Jaejoong every night they worked together, and even though Jaejoong couldn’t quite clear the air from the feeling that they were dancing around each other…well, it wasn’t bad either. Really. Even if it felt like the entire balance could be thrown off completely by something microscopic in size.

 

Jaejoong unloaded this to Yoochun late one night when Changmin wasn’t working and the next day, Changmin walked in with watery eyes, a hacking cough, and three layers of clothing. Changmin barely set foot outside the wait staff office when two of the new hires rushed him and dragged him back in. 

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Changmin insisted, flailing uselessly as Minho and Kyuhyun attempted to force him back into his coat. “Really, I’m not sick. Hyung, tell them I’m not sick.” 

 

“Oh man, you are so sick right now and so not approved for work,” Yunho said cheerfully. Changmin tried to glare at him but wet, bleary eyes made for a very unthreatening glower. Yunho leaned in closer, brushing the palm of his hand against Changmin’s forehead and then, softer. “You can’t serve food like this, Changminnie. Go home.”

//

“…and then he looks at me all sad and small and he says: ‘Hyung, I can’t go home’.” Yunho said, shaking his head, all helpless sympathy. “So the last I saw, he was sleeping behind the counter of Yoochun’s bar, and you should totally take him home. Like now.”

 

Jaejoong blinked. “Wait, what?”

//

Turned out Changmin wasn’t sleeping behind the counter as much as he was curled up against the front of it, huddled in a cocoon of his own jackets plus what Jaejoong suspected was actually Junsu’s blanket. It was in stark contrast from Changmin’s usual composed self that it might have been endearing if Changmin hadn’t looked quite so miserable. Jaejoong knelt down beside him and poked him hard in the sides until he stirred.

 

“I thought Yunho told you to go home,” Jaejoong said, trying to ignore how much effort it’d taken for Changmin to shake himself awake. “What are you still doing here?” 

 

“The bus doesn’t come for another hour,” Changmin mumbled, burrowing further into his coat. “S’warmer in the bar, hyung..” 

 

Jaejoong thought about Changmin getting off the bus and slipping on the ice and hitting his head on the concrete somewhere. Then, he thought about calling a cab or seeing if any of Changmin’s friends from school could come get him, but then he also thought about the one jar of kimchi and the one small carton of pickled turnips in Changmin’s refrigerator, and how Changmin never turned on the heat in his apartment even when it was snowing—and Changmin’s complexion was visibly gray even under his tan and the warm bar lighting—and Jaejoong’s decision was made for him. 

 

“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Jaejoong said to Eric, prepared for an argument. Thursdays were one of their busier days and Jaejoong had his near perfect attendance record on the tip of his tongue, but Eric didn’t berate him, just shrugged and carried on chopping onions. Jaejoong watched him shrewdly. “I want tomorrow off too.” 

 

“If you don’t come in tomorrow,” Eric said without looking up, “I’ll put you on cleaning duty for a month.” 

 

Jaejoong grinned despite himself. “Yes, chef.”

//

Miraculously, Jaejoong managed to collect Changmin from the bar, get him out to his car, and up the stairs into his apartment all by himself. Later, Yoochun would compare his feat to a mother lifting a car to save her child, but Jaejoong thought it was more likely the weight loss from sickness and it had been three days and Changmin felt limp and light in his arms, and Jaejoong was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to joke about this. Possibly ever.

 

He turned the thermostat up to sauna-like temperatures, dragged his thickest comforters out of the closet, and forced Changmin to chug down a bowl of soup and fever tablets, but it still wasn’t enough. At the end of it all, Changmin was still shivering and burning at the same time and there was little Jaejoong could do but wait. He would’ve done just that—waiting—but then Changmin made a noise like he was in pain and one second later, Jaejoong was sliding into bed beside him, wrapping his arms around Changmin’s quivering shoulders, and holding him close. 

 

“Hyung,” Changmin mumbled into his collarbone, congested and drowsy. 

 

“I’m here,” Jaejoong said, running his fingers through Changmin’s sweat-dampened hair. “Go to sleep.” 

 

For once, Changmin listened.

//

The sky was dark and the moon was out by the time Jaejoong woke up from his impromptu nap. Changmin was still tucked in the crook of his arm, the same position he'd been in when they had first fallen asleep, but he looked considerably better, and was breathing easier too. If Jaejoong had waited until the end of dinner service...no, he was glad he hadn't.

 

"Hyung?" Jaejoong glanced down. Changmin's eyes were still closed and his voice was still scratched, but he wasn't shivering anymore, and when his arms tightened around Jaejoong's sides, Jaejoong returned the gesture instinctively. "You took me home?" 

 

"Yeah." Changmin cracked one eye open and squinted at him confusedly. Jaejoong's brain made an unholy noise of glee and took a mental picture to store away forever and ever as his fingers twitched for the phone on his nightstand for an actual physical copy. 

 

"Why?" 

 

"You were cuddling against pinewood for warmth. That sounds wrong. No, but you couldn't even walk. How could you let yourself get this sick?" 

 

"Finals," Changmin mumbled, reaching around Jaejoong's shoulders to rub at his face. "Haven't been sleeping all that well. Hyung...were you worried about me?" 

 

"Of course I was worried about you," Jaejoong said, trying and failing to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Did you miss the part where you couldn't walk? I don't just keep you around for the amazing sex, y'know." 

 

"...you don't?" 

 

There it was again, that feeling that they were talking about completely different things. Changmin's eyes were open and searching and strangely vulnerable. Jaejoong suddenly thought of the way Changmin would crowd around him and press his lips against Jaejoong's neck when he was making breakfast, and how Changmin had effectively trained him into feeding him bits from the pass, and how some Friday nights, after a particularly brutal dinner service, Changmin would take time to rub out the aches from between Jaejoong's shoulder blades and bandage his cuts and wounds before putting his hands on him. Mostly, he thought about how their kisses had started off frantic, almost violent, and how now they were still mostly the same, but mixed in with the slower, gentler ones too. 

 

And Changmin's head was tucked under his chin and Jaejoong could feel his heart pounding alongside his own and finally, he understood. 

 

“Oh my god,” Jaejoong breathed. “You idiot.” 

 

He didn't give Changmin a chance to refute that, just rolled them over so he was straddling Changmin's waist and crashed their lips together so hard Changmin let out an uncharacteristic squeak. But Changmin's recovery was, as always, swift and smooth and immediately, he threaded his fingers into Jaejoong's hair and dragged him down further into the open-mouthed kiss, hungry and wanting. 

 

Sometime during the night, Jaejoong pulled back long enough to ask: "So, boyfriends?" 

 

"Yeah," Changmin panted in response. "Everyone thinks we've been dating for months already." 

 

" _Everyone_?!"

//

 

_Monday you can fall apart. Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart  
Thursday doesn't even start. It's Friday I'm in love_  


**Author's Note:**

> For **goldintheshadow** @ [_starcandy](http://_starcandy.livejournal.com/) Christmas Exchange 2012.


End file.
